Propaganda
by Astrum Ululatum
Summary: Movie-verse. "God, Sunstreaker, you're killing the symbolism!" // "Because it's STUPID." // "No, it's symbolism."


**Disclamation!** Transformers © Hasbro

**Propaganda:**

_The deliberate spreading of such information, rumors, etc._

**I**t was raining again. The sky was a marbled gray and white, pearly and ethereal, and seemed luminous in spite of the frigid tears that showered the silent world below. The land itself was moist and riddled with treacherous slicks of mud, appearing to sympathize with the heavens' dour mood, but the foliage was rejoicing. Through the saturnine sheets of chilling liquid, the trees danced and gleamed emerald, soaking in the rainwater eagerly and shimmering with bliss as the excess water tickled their lovely branches. The lower grasses and shrubs trembled impatiently for the rain to reach them after its tall descent so that they could slake their thirst as well—though deeper in hue of green and with a spangling of yellow, the underbrush rivaled the trees in vibrancy and joy.

From the security of an expensive leather pilot seat, Mikaela Banes observed the drearily delighted weather in a comfortable silence. Rainwater—the purest of Earth's natural liquids—streaked down the darkly tinted windshield and side window that now supported her head, leaving beaded trails in its wake. She sighed, her breath creating a brief fog across a small radius of window and veiling the straggling droplets from sight for all but a moment, miniature compared to the millions of others that captivated the world. She was enjoying her share of those millions, marveling at the number of tiny instances she could create with every breath and passing thought; every fluttering blink of her blue hued eyelashes—laden with a brand of mascara that promised beautiful extensions to the fragile hairs and a luscious addition of color—was an instance passed and another born. It was…_miraculous_.

The whispered roar of the heaters, pumping the two-seating vehicle with a lethargic warmth, was occasionally accompanied by the rumble of the iron colored clouds as they rolled and scraped together far overhead. Every growl of weather phenomena caused the young woman to drink in another awed breath, the air so hot it chilled her tongue and created the illusion of ice slipping like liquid down her throat. In a wonderfully futile attempt to catch up with the clouds in their graceful, uncoordinated process, her eyes flitted between alternately focusing on the streaks on the window and the distant dreary curtain of sky, like two gleaming sapphires of the richest classification.

As the invisible sun slunk towards its resting the place, her immediate surroundings intensified in gloom and the dance of the foliage increased its pace due to the accompanying uproar of shrilling wind and sheeting rain. The trees continued their glowing sway and the underbrush shuddered faster and with more earnest demand, but the dripping tears neither sped nor slowed in response to the foliage's pleas.

Purposefully this time, Mikaela exhaled onto the glass and watched with rapt attention as her breath—frosted by her spearmint chewing gum—spun a network of intangible webs across the gemmed window. She watched the minty fog dissipate; the vanishing process was hurried by the fervent heater and as clarity returned to the window, the reflection of her heart-shaped face framed with flyway strands of bronze hair came into view. She studied herself critically, and then shifted her attention outside once more where the rain had at last heeded nature's calls and solidified into a pummeling hail. The young woman frowned at this, her sculpted lips puckering in her distaste and her spidery hands flitted to the leather steering wheel, though her eyes remained pensively on the dribbling stragglers of liquid that was pooling around the windshield wipers. Still transfixed, she lifted her temple from the glass—stinging from the sudden rush of heat after extensive contact with the chilled windowpane—and her right hand drifted to the ignition, pianist's fingers curling tenderly around the slim key. She smiled faintly and listened to the rumbling of the gracefully uncoordinated clouds and the thunder of the hail beating down relentlessly on the roof and hood of the car, a symphony of warped soprano and baritone that formed a haunting, beautiful melody.

She ducked her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders to form a shimmering barrier around her pale face, and her faint smile grew by a fraction—she teased the key, toying with the engine as to contribute a modern twist to the natural music. She tipped her chin up, gossamer locks sliding effortlessly away from her visage, and peered through the rain once more—the hail pounded on and the clouds continued to shift and the crash of hail on metal pressed on without falter.

The steady purr of the engine was muffled by the weather, but music to her ears nevertheless. Her soft palms roved over the steering wheel—cool and expensive—and her right hand lingered at the sleek seat on its journey to the shift. The vehicle smelled entirely of high quality leather with an undercurrent of her favorite lavender perfume, the dashboard was prim and in perfect condition, and all the dials were clear of fingerprints and of all signs of wear—the car, though unfathomably old, still had a "fresh from the factory" appearance—exactly to her liking.

Still, Mikaela was pensive; concern wrapping its icy fingers around the fringes of her mind and creeping inward like a cancer. She could not identify the alien feeling that was grasping her heart, twisting knots into her stomach, and tugging urgently at her spirit. The young woman was conflicted though she could not puzzle out the exact reason why; her sense of adventure had faded long ago, she preferred to settle in the comfort of her home with a steaming, singeing mug of hot chocolate and a numbingly fascinating novel. Now she felt compelled to stretch her legs, to kick off her Borne brand clogs and feel the sopping grass beneath her feet; she was suddenly, strangely claustrophobic in the obscure haven this car usually offered her.

Clenching her delicate jaw and dropping her head back against the rest, she lifted her hand to the ignition once more and twisted the key with more force than she would normally apply. The engine lilted and the dashboard chirped in acknowledgment to her command, and the custom V8 engine fell silent obediently. The whispering roar of the heaters faded to mute as well and the rush of hot air died away; though the lethargy of the cabin was not immediately relieved, it was her tugging spirit that sapped her comfort and left her craving to explore the unknown outdoors.

Filled with a revived passion, Mikaela slid her fingers from the ignition to grasp the slim, silver handle, her sapphire orbs fixated upon the tumultuous sky above the streaked glass. Possessed by a subtle reverence, she pressed the handle down, giving the earnest command for the gull wing door to drift out and heavenward and release her to the beautiful danger beyond the sanctity of the vehicle's cabin…

A dull _thunk_ met her command, the door remained steadfast—a frown marred her lovely face and she repeated her request with more force. Once more, she was met with stubborn resistance; out of spite, she jostled the handle rigorously, creating a chorus of unpleasant _thunk_s until at last a handsome voice erupted within the very atmosphere of the cabin, lividly protesting her obnoxious actions.

"_Mikaela_, you are _not_ going out into that storm!"

"God, Sunstreaker, you're killing the symbolism!"

"Because it's _stupid_."

"No, it's _symbolism_."

"For _what_?"

Mikaela froze, one elegant hand hovering over the handle, her jaw worked up and down, struggling for the words necessary to answer the car's snarky query. Finally, she grit her gum between her teeth and sat back in the driver's seat, huffing and crossing her arms tightly over her chest; she glared childishly out the window, avoiding "eye contact" with Sunstreaker's steering wheel.

"I thought so," he said smugly when she failed to respond. "You humans get so worked up over symbolism and half the time you don't even know what you're going on about. It's absolutely ridiculous. I mean _really_, what did you honestly expect to accomplish by leaving my nice warm seats and sitting out in the _cold_ and the _hail_ and near a tree where you'll probably get stuck by _lightning_?"

"Oh, shut up and take me home already," the girl snapped, sinking deeper in the admittedly comfortable—okay, _very_ comfortable—seat. Under her breath, she added in an annoyed grumble, "I don't see why you _care_ anyway…"

Of course, Sunstreaker heard every word—though she wasn't really trying to be sneaky—but that still didn't mean he was required to reply.

"_Because_," the Lamborghini said, coolly condescending, "then I'd have to drive your sopping wet aft home and get water marks all over my leather interior. Not to mention, _I'd_ get slag from Prime and rest, never mind your stupid _boyfriend_, for 'letting you get sick like that' and 'being so typically irresponsible' even though catching influenza was _entirely your fault_, and _not_ mine.

"See, I get blamed for _everything_ and half the time it's Sideswipe's fault...! Twenty-five percent of the time it's a Decepticon's fault, ten percent of the time it's some human's fault, three percent of the time it's _Blurr's_ fault of _all_ people, and _two percent_ is my own fault!"

"…What about the last ten—?"

"Sideswipe."

Mikaela made a small 'o' shape with her curvaceous lips and nodded slowly.

"So, as fascinating as it is to hear about whose fault everything is…"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going; don't get your processor in a fritz."

-…-…-…-

**Author's Note:** A sort of last hurrah before I leave and never come back…until the end of the summer… Seriously though, I have no idea where this (or the title) came from, but I'm rather proud of it, particularly Sunny's little spiel on humans and symbolism. I dunno about you, but those are my thoughts almost exactly when heavy symbolism comes up (even if I do sort of understand it…). So, uh, I hope you enjoyed the [_really short_] fic and please review!


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